


Just the Two of Us Meeting at this Time of Night

by roxyryoko



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: A support, Cathedral rendezvous, F/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Someone’s making crest babies, and it’s not sylvain, but ruined
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22850443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxyryoko/pseuds/roxyryoko
Summary: Although crumbling, the Cathedral was the perfect place to make vows of protection and devotion. The romantic atmosphere was not lost on Sylvain as Mercedes held him and swept away his tears.Unfortunately, a decrepit Cathedral is also the perfect place for other more salacious kinds of rendezvouses.Or: Caspar and Hilda ruin Sylvain and Mercedes’s A support.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 28
Kudos: 89





	Just the Two of Us Meeting at this Time of Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BreadyCakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreadyCakes/gifts).



> BreadyCakes offered this idea in response to Ethereally’s twitter post and I just had to write it!

“Don't be ashamed of crying,” Mercedes said sweetly as she stepped forward with a dainty smile that upturned her eyes into crescent moons. The glow of votive candles danced across her cheeks, and it occurred to Sylvain that her body was close in a way that neither of them dared to venture before. Each inch nearer breached so many walls of dishonest smiles and redirected conversation. She reached her hands out and he couldn’t help but stiffen despite craving that touch with a child-like want not felt since many years before Duscar fell.

Sylvain knew all about the false affection contained in faceless lovers’ manipulative caresses and guileful eyes—he was a master of the art form himself—but when her fingers brushed against his shoulder, clumsy from straining on tiptoes to reach higher, there was nothing but the sweetest warmth.

She cupped his face and her thumbs swept away the flowing tears, and he was swept into the oceans of her blue eyes. They contained not the crashing waves that stormed in his, tainting his outlook, but the calm of the sea after the tempest passed. The way those eyes bore into him struck Sylvain with an unnerving fear no woman before had ever instilled within him, yet at the same time cast a soothing spell that made him feel whole for the first time in his life.

It was as if Mercedes saw him, _really_ saw him. As if she saw significance in the flawed and broken man rather than a mere body that could be plundered for potential treasures. Sylvain. Not a Gautier. Not a crest-bearer. Not a stud horse to continue a legacy of misguided tradition. Not a pawn in a war that bore the fruits of a weapon only he could wield.

“I'm here to protect you,” she continued with a graceful smile. “Will you protect me in return?”  
  
“I will,” he said on instinct. The vow slipped out so easily. Easier than lies every poured. “I promise.”

With an irony not lost on him, Sylvain hesitated, but eventually found the resolve to wrap his arms loosely around her waist. Relief washed over him when she didn’t flinch but instead pressed closer to him, hands cascading down to his shoulders and pulling him into a tender hug. Even through the fabric of his shirt her hands were warm like the heat of sunshine beating down in a way it never did in Faerghus. Safe and comforting. Not the icy winds that kept one locked inside, clutching blankets to buffer cold that stung so deep.

A tinge of levity tumbled out in the quietest laugh. “You know, Mercedes, you really are a special lady.”

He’d said such a line to insignificant women countless times. Professed lies that oozed saccharine endearment so they cut deeper when he proved their falsehood. But here and now he meant it. Mercedes was different. She was the only one who had ever mattered.

Sylvain cast his gaze upward, tears still streaking down his cheeks. Through the opening in the Cathedral ceiling he could see the white waning moon peaking out behind the bell tower. It’s heavenly glow illuminated the pews and statues below in slithering stripes and patches. A painting-worthy scene created through an indelible wound.

Did all scars have such potential?

Mercedes hummed contently in his arms and he wondered what sound she would make if he pressed his lips against her.

“Say, Mercedes,” he began, unexpectedly nervous. Her hair tickled the corners of his mouth as he spoke. “You know when I say you’re special, I’m not kidding around. I mean it. Sincerely.”

She hummed again, an intoxicating tune in his ear. “Yes, I know.”

“Then,” he gulped, “would you believe I’m sincere if I told you I’d like to prove it?” He pulled away to look her in the eye and kept his hands on her hips. “I’d like nothing more than to kiss you, my very special lady.”

Mercedes’s eyes widened and her cheeks turned the cutest shade of pink. “Oh!” she gasped and her fingers fidgeted against his shoulder. She glanced down a moment before looking back up with a demure yet coy smile. “I believe I’d very much enjoy that as well.”

He offered a nervous grin and leaned down. Her breath washed over his face in small puffs and he parted his lips to—

Suddenly, a high-pitched amorous giggle bounced off the marble walls. It was followed by a bellowing laugh and a resounding clatter.

Sylvain froze, lips ghosting over hers, and Mercedes stiffened in his hands. He hated to admit that he recognized that first voice. However, judging by the way Mercedes’s eyes filled with alarm, she most likely did not. She pulled away, quite to his dismay, and asked in shy bewilderment, “Oh my, what could that possibly be?”

Sylvain almost laughed but held back. His voice held all his juvenile humor, however. “I have a _pretty_ good idea. A clandestine rendezvous in the moonlight of a crumbling Cathedral? Sounds like it came straight from a romance novel. Heck, sounds like something I would do.” He smirked. “What we still _could_ do.”

Her brow drew more and more as he spoke. “Sylvain, this is a place of worship,” she objected and he found her naivety completely endearing. “Surely, people would have more respect than to...um, engage in such activities here.” Mercedes glanced around as another muffle of excited voices ricocheted off the walls.

Slightly hopeful, she chortled, “What if it’s ghosts?” Her eyes glinted in quiet amusement. “Wouldn’t that be delightful?”

It most definitely was not ghosts. Sylvain couldn’t tell if she was serious or playing him. He was just about to inquire but she took off at a brisk pace after the source.

Sylvain wiped the wet stains from his cheeks and chased after her, his longer stride allowing him to catch up with ease. The stifled moans, lascivious gasps, and rustle of fabric only grew louder.

“Mercedes,” he tried to warn, stepping in front of her. “Let’s leave the ghosts to their own delights, why don’t we?”

A female voice squealed and a faint thud vibrated under a layer of heavy breathing. “ _So_ strong!” the same voice swooned. “I’m feeling _completely_ smitten!”

The honey-laced words made even Sylvain blush and he watched Mercedes’s face pale in realization that he was correct.

The other person crooned shakily, “Y-yeah? You like this? This is nothing. Just wait, and I’ll —” An enraptured groan replaced his speech.

Mercedes rounded the corner to the Hall of Saints, now a steaming anger in her every step.

“First favor, my dear. I’d like you to use those big, strong, sexy muscles to fuck me _so_ , so hard.”

Mercedes stomped to a stop and Sylvain came up behind her. He wanted to laugh at the sight before him.

Tucked beside the base of the the statue of Saint Cethleann, Hilda and Caspar’s obscene engagement was exposed. His arms clutched her thighs, suspending Hilda with the aid of her legs wrapped around his waist. Disheveled pink hair provided Hilda some decency, covering her breasts which pooled out over her rucked down bodice while Caspar’s shirt was completely absent. Small pink bruises and lipstick smudges spotted his neck and face.

Bewildered pink and cyan eyes starred back at Sylvain and Mercedes. Hilda jumped before slumping into Caspar’s chest, attempting to hide her vulnerable state. Caspar went as white as the ghosts Mercedes wished to discover. Even in battle, Sylvain couldn’t recall such fright on his face. Perhaps a close second occurred back in school during an ironically coincidental roar of thunder at the climax of Mercedes’s latest spooky tale.

Sylvain should have some pity for the mortified couple before him, but he couldn’t _not_ tease them.

“You weren’t interested in the particulars, Mercedes,” he bubbled. “But looks like we stumbled upon an _explicit_ example of making some crest babies.” He put a hand on her shoulder, and he didn’t need to look at her face to know she was scandalized. “Hey, leave room for Seiros guys. This is a holy place, you hear.”

Caspar flushed scarlet and gritted his teeth, embarrassment and vexation at war and robbing his ability to form sentences. Hilda stroked his back as if reassuringly, and her tone was even when she spoke, “Oh, Sylvain, I can’t say that ever stopped _you_ before.” She rolled her eyes and then glared. “Now if you could do me the biggest favor and skedaddle, I would appreciate it so very much!”

“Oh sure, sure,” he replied smarmily with a crooked smirk. “I got to say though, looks like Caspar here is all ready doing you a pretty big favor.” Sylvain cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. “If you had to measure, how big a favor would you say it is?”

Caspar opened his mouth to say something, but Hilda blurted out, “HUGE favor.” She defiantly rocked her hips into her lover’s groin and his gasp echoed off the walls. “Now shoo!” She fluttered her lashes and added sweetly, “Please.”

“Hilda,” Caspar tried, flustered, and lowered her ungracefully. “Come on, this is really, _really_ embarrassing. Let’s just—“

Mercedes shifted. “Really,” she interrupted in that rare imposing tone that cut deep and offered no protest. “The Goddess must be so ashamed. You both better—better rearrange yourselves and ask for Her forgiveness. Seteth is not going to be happy when I inform him of this…this sacrilege tomorrow morning.” She turned to leave and Sylvain couldn’t help the laughter that rumbled out of chest.

Hilda gaped and hopped out of Caspar’s arms, covering herself with her hands. She whined shrilly, “Mercedes! Come on, we’re ‘kindred spirits’ or whatever, right? You wouldn’t really tell _Seteth,_ would you?”

Mercedes turned back on her and the way those eyes bore into the offending two surely struck them with an unnerving fear nobody before had ever instilled within them.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I write serious fics of these ships! Please check out my other work for some fluff and angst.


End file.
